“I shall make this world of my devising, out of
a dream in my lonely mind,

I shall grasp the scepter of peace, above me,
stars shall I find.”

--
Sara Teasdale, “Stars Shall I Find.”

The boy was no stranger to fear, but
he had never been struck by terror like this before. His mind was filled with
one question: Where is she? The child and the machine joined together
as one, scanning the Sol system for transports as they rushed for the Wolf
jumpgate. He had found his sister a nuisance many times before, but the
thought of losing her scared him more than fighting Arthur Clarke had.

Moving at .5c brought him to the
gate quickly, but there were so many transports heading his way that he didn’t
know which one Cerise was on—or if she was even still in the system. Turning
off the jamming shield and sending short-range transmissions to every ship
heading for the gate, the boy desperately called for his sister. “Cerise!
Where are you?”

It took a few moments before
anything happened, but once the ships read the massive energy emissions the
All-Father gave off, they started going evasive. Not a single one of them said
anything back. Where are you? An image of Cerise in a corridor
on-board a transport suddenly filled his mind, a look of confusion, anger, and
happiness painted on her face.

“Kiddo? How did y—“

“Cerise, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, Da—I mean, Kash takes good
care of me. As soon as the fleet appeared, he told Shannon and me to get on
board the next transport for the Wolf system. Shannon didn’t listen, though.
She was being bad. I told her she would get in trouble if she stayed, but she
kept saying she was too big and Dad needed our help.”

“Is Wolf safe?”

“For now it is. It won’t be for
long, though. Kiddo, didn’t you see the fleet?”

“No, I was only looking for
transports. What’s going on?”

“The Fed’s here. They’re demanding surrender, and
they’ll drop the moon on Earth if we don’t. They’ll do the same to every
planet in every system until we surrender, but we won’t surrender. They’ll
just put us into camps or kill us or—“ She was sobbing uncontrollably now.

“How? And how are you getting this
transmission onto the ship map display in this without anyone noticing? Where
are you? Are you in hyperspace, too?”

Ugh. Too many questions. “Look,
I’ve gotta go take care of some stuff. I’ll catch up with you soon.” I
think… The boy cut the transmission, but the image of his sister still
remained in his mind. “Goodbye, Cerise.” He then felt himself let go of
something, and the image disappeared. Was that magick? I didn’t even feel
it.

The transports were still zig-zagging their way
towards the gate, but the boy in the machine ignored them now. He turned the
shield on and started heading back to Luna, but it was too slow. The mobile
stopped dead, and after a few seconds, a large correspondence portal appeared
before it, which the mobile promptly stepped into. It didn’t come out the
other side, though. Instead, it came out into cold nothingness. The shock of
the cold told the boy that he wasn’t where he wanted to be, and the voice he
heard told him exactly where he was.

I’m back, Hex. I’m almost disappointed that you
have not made better use of this time, but I expected as much.

Oh? Well what have you done?

I’ve started unraveling your existence—and mine,
too. Now that the Auschwitz has been removed, the void is your rightful
place more than reality. You’ll have to consciously will yourself to stay
there from now on, just as I have had to do for years. So will Cerise, in
time.

What have you done to her!

I’ve taken away another part of your history,
boy. Without the Auschwitz, Project: Zeus doesn’t go well and is
cancelled. Atkins, Xaktos, and everyone else involved in the project are
killed, including you. Eventually, the time-line will correct itself, and you
will cease to exist. However, you are already strong enough to resist it if
you wish. You might not realize it yet, but you don’t have to follow any
of the artificial rules that reality has set for you.

You bastard! What are you doing?!Fulfilling your destiny. You’re just one step away from
realizing your full power.

Hex woke up screaming. Everything had changed in
the moment between heartbeats. Suddenly he awoke in a comfortable bed, light
pouring in through the windows, in a warm, comfortable room, a silver collar
around his throat. Where am I? the boy wondered. Is this just another
illusion by the gray man? It wouldn’t be his first.

The door slammed open and a middle-aged woman
rushed into the room. She was whisper-thin and wore the traditional
high-collar, long skirt of women in the Christian Federation. She looked
worried as her eyes turned to the boy. “Are you all right?”

The boy was still confused. “Where am I?”

“New Jerusalem… on San Angeles.”

“How did I…”

“Your… mobile suit? Is that the word for it?”
Hex nodded. “Anyway, your mobile suit landed yesterday at the spaceport, but
you were unconscious inside it. You were taken here and I… I was told to look
after to you until you got better.”

“What… what’s today’s date?”

“December 13th.”

Five days? Have I been asleep for five days? he
wondered. “If I’m here, who are you?”

“My name’s Constance. I put you my son James’
bed. I hope you slept all right.”

She’s only a little bit older than Cerise, Hex
thought as he stared at her, if she still exists. Perhaps the gray man was
only playing with me. “Hello.” he managed to reply, finally getting a good
look at her face. I know that face from somewhere…

Suddenly, a door slammed somewhere else in the
house. The two women suddenly froze; fear seemed to rise through them. Then a
man’s voice broke the tense silence. “Connie?”

“In here.” the woman called back. Hope seemed to
lean back towards her mother, as if she was hoping she could hide herself in
the long skirt.

Then a clean-cut photogenic man appeared through
the open door, his eyes instantly focusing on the boy. Hex even unconsciously
sat back as he realized he was sitting in the presence of Andrew Tremont. “Ah,
Brother Ehud. It seems you have decided to join us. You performed your mission
beautifully, but you’ve left us with a… problem.”

“Problem?” The boy reached up and felt the
collar around his neck.

The Commander of the Faithful pulled out a
datapad and showed it to Hex. The words flowed across the screen as the boy
read them aloud. “There are times when wars are necessary to stop injustice. It
was so when the…” Suddenly, he stopped; he was reading his own words, sent in a
letter to Lieutenant Weiss before he left for Earth.

“Yes, you begin to understand our little
problem.” Andrew replied, turning off the datapad. “You have asked to submit
yourself before the church and civil government due to your objections to our
beliefs. Normally, a soldier in His Cause has no right to challenge the
authority of his betters. You should have read your Erasmus as well as your
Bible. The soldier fights in deference to his liege lord out of duty, but he
should fight with honor and respect in deference to God.”

“A man cannot serve two masters, sir.” Hex
answered. “He will either love one and hate the other, or…”

Tremont interrupted him by taking a seat on the
bed, his glare full of anger. “Don’t challenge me in my own home, brother. My
family is watching you… and I have not finished.” The older man sighed, closed
his eyes, and rubbed them. “You’re a hero of the Christian Federation, Ehud,
but instead of the honors that are due you, we are forced to deal with this,”
he slammed the datapad next to Hex on the bed, “farce. You wish to be tried by
sacred scripture? Then so be it. Your trial will take place at noon, that’s…”
he looked at his chronometer, “three hours from now. We will answer your
questions, brother, and if you do not submit to the teachings of the church,
you will be named as a heretic, and a danger to the assembly of believers.
Then, in accordance with the tradition of the Righteous Army, you will be shot
by firing squad.” A slight grin formed on his face, then quickly disappeared.
”Unless you recant, brother, I suspect you’ll be dead by sunset. Now… do you
wish to repent and rejoin His Cause, or do you wish to continue with this
foolish trial?”

Hex swallowed the fear rising up within him from
the monster that sat only inches from his body. He tried to read his mind, but
he couldn’t summon anything within him. That collar must be stopping me from
using my abilities. “I will submit myself to trial by sacred
scripture, sir.”

Darkening clouds seemed to shadow his face in
rage. With one motion, he stood up from the bed, and went over to his wife.
“Get him ready and take him to the church at noon. You got that, Connie?”

She nodded, bowing her head. Tremont just rushed
out the door; the front door could be heard slamming in the distance. Constance finally looked over at the boy. “Come now, Ehud, it’s time to get up for the
day.”

Hours seemed to pass like centuries as Hex stood
there in the dining hall of the main sanctuary in New Jerusalem, facing the
entire administration of the Christian Federation. Andrew Tremont presided over
the impromptu assembly. Calton Reks, with his scarred face, sat at his right,
and hadn’t said a single word throughout the verbal inquisition. At his left
was Ira Weiss, in his function as Minister of the Faith, who seemed embarrassed
at what Hex had done. Then along either side of the long table were the other
seven ministers, and the aging vice-president of the Christian Elder Assembly.
It reminded the boy of the phrase they taught the kids in the CF schools: “How
is the Christian Federation maintained? Through war and peace,
our health and wealth, with our mind, soul, and body,
united in faith.” It was simple enough saying; it taught the kids how
the government was run by naming each of the eight departments.

“Is there a problem, brother?” Andrew spoke up.

The question drove the boy out of his
woolgathering. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“The minister asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry, sir, could you repeat it?”

The Minister of Soul cleared his throat and
replied, “I asked you, brother, that how do you know that ours is not a holy
crusade, not blessed by God, to convert the heathen to His service.”

“God commanded us to make disciples of all men,
not to force them by gunpoint.”

“Then tell me, brother,” Ira Weiss spoke up,
“when God commanded Joshua to retake the Promised Land, and kill all the
unbelievers… I said, kill, brother, as He was rather upset when the
Israelites didn’t a couple times, what was that? A mistake? Joshua just
heard the orders wrong? Remember, Ehud, that Jesus Christ is the same
yesterday, today, and forever. There is no difrerence between the Old Testament
and New Testament God.”

Hex sighed. “Sir, when Joshua led the people of Israel to Jericho, they did not attack it by conventional means. The Lord himself commanded them to
walk around the city seven times. On the seventh time around, they all blew
their trumpets and shouted as one, and the walls fell down. When God leads us, not
man, nothing is impossible. When they relied on their own means, instead of
God’s, at Ai, they were defeated.”

A silence came across the table and Calton Reks
finally stood up. “I have a question for the accused.”

“Go ahead, Cal.” Tremont replied, wondering what
was going on in that mind of his

“Brother Ehud, you believe in Our Lord Jesus
Christ?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You believe that Paul saw Him on the road to Damascus?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you believe that God calls us today as he
called his believers in ancient times?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, if our Commander said that God called to
him to win the universe to Christ, would you believe that?”

“I suppose so. But I do not believe that
He meant for us…”

“Your opinion is meaningless, brother!”
Reks interrupted. “You serve as a soldier in the Army of the Lord! Whether our
cause is just or not is not for you to decide, is it? We believe that Andrew
Tremont is acting in the best interests of His Cause. If we serve His Cause,
what does it matter if we follow what could later be a flawed order?”

Hex closed his eyes. “In the end days, there
will be many prophets who will distract you from the Way.” He opened his eyes
again. “A true prophet can be tested by his actions. M. Tremont does not pass
the test.”

The scarred werewolf looked like he wanted to
leap across the table and kill him now. Andrew put his hand on the sword’s
shoulder and compelled him to sit down. “Brother Ehud, you are asked one last
time. Will you repent and serve under the instructions of this church and your
betters?”

“No, sir.”

Tremont sat back down and leaned back in his
chair. “Do you have anything to say before your sentence is read?”

“What I speak is not heresy, it is His truth. We
would be fools to disregard it. If you seek to end my life, then this is not
a Christian Federation… and I will not recant.”

The commander was unaffected. “The
Righteous Army finds you unfit to serve your duties, an adversary to the faith,
and we will deal with this accordingly. Ehud… Hex, you will be taken
from this place to Fort Charity, brought before a firing squad, and shot until
you are dead. This session is adjourned.”

Hex stood there in
front of the firing squad in the courtyard of the blank Fort Charity. His faith seemed to abandon him at the crucial moment, lost in the hopelessness of the
situation. It’s been so useless, he thought, O Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often
would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood
undger her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you
desolate.

“Ready your rifles!” came the command. The line
of teenage troopers lifted their plasma rifles with difficulty.

Hex, it’s time to go…

The boy looked and he saw the gray man standing
there before him, holding out his hand. For the first time, Hex realized who he
was looking at, who tormented him all this time.

“Aim!” the rifles started pointing at him.

Take my hand… please.

You’re… me? Have you been me all this
time?

I exist out of time, and now, so must you.

Hex reached out and grabbed the hand of
the gray man… his own hand, and stepped forward.

“FIRE!”

The plasma bolts passed through the empty space
where Hex had just occupied; his anti-magic collar dropping to the ground,
ringing against the rocks with a dull twang.

*****

“Will you all just shudd’up for a second!”
screamed the man at the dock counter. Hyperion Spaceport had been hectic all
day, ever since the offer of free transport to a new colony was offered last
week. The mass of humanity struggling to get on the colony ship slowly grew
silent. “Good! Now don’t worry, all the people registered for Outremer
Enterprises, Incorporated will be granted access to the ship. Everyone else
will be served on the basis of your skills rating and called up by name
to the counter until all seats are full! If you don’t have a skills rating,
line up, single-file, at the rating counter, which is set up at Dock 15.
Remember, Outremer is not responsible for anyone who volunteers to
resettle in the T7 System. Now those who are registered, form a line here,
everyone else, take a seat!”

As the mob dispersed, a couple sat along the
wall, with their few possessions packed up in two boxes. The woman, her head
covered by a shawl, looked over at her husband. “Are you all right?”

“Uhmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” he managed to speak through parched
lips.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get on the ship. I bribed
the guy at the ratings desk. We’re both qualified agricultural specialists.”

“What?”

“Farmers, honey. We’re going to be at the front
of the line.”

“Then we go to T7.” he said in a bored tone.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah… but what are we going to do there? We
were both soldiers. That’s all we know.”

“We have a chance for a new life. A
chance to be together.”

“A normal life?”

“On an uncolonized planet? Hardly. And we can
have children and…”

“Children?”

“Yes, dear. We can raise a family together. Make
a new future.”

He smiled as he touched her hand. “Sounds good.”

The last of the registered passengers got aboard
and the clerk called out, “Al and Tess Benjamin?”

She stood up and grabbed one of the boxes. “Time
to go, Alistar.”

*****

Zechariah McNeilly
hurried Shannon onto the shuttle. Jessica Martel quickly climbed into the
pilot’s seat, placed her hands on the control ball, and started it up. As they
rose towards space, following the rest of the evacuees, they broke off and met
at the appointed coordinates. The ship suddenly appeared before them, but it
was noticeably damaged. As Jessica quickly got them into the shuttle bay, Zech
placed his hand on the wall, using his soul web to interface with the ship,
establishing a com link between him and the mother ship.

As he closed his eyes,
he saw Vin Dane, several scars covering his body, already healing, and his
clothing was wrecked. "Vin,” he asked, “w-what happened?"

"Did you
get Shannon?"

“But, Vin…
what…”

“Did you get
Shannon?!” Dane barked back at him.

"Yeah,
yeah! She's right here. Now what happened to the ship?"

"The
humans.” Vin spat in anger. “Their simple minds came up with a simple trick…
but we escaped. We can repair the damage and the danger is passed.”

“What about…”

“Zech, there
are more important things to be concerned about. When you get back on board,
come see me at once. And don't forget the girl." The connection went
black.

Shaking off the
uncomfortable feeling of the communication, McNeilly walked over towards the
pilot’s seat, but Jessica stared at him, bobbing her head towards Shannon.
Zechariah turned to find Shannon a petrified white.

“What is it?
What’s wrong, Shannon?"

She stared at
him with a terrified look. “You don’t understand. I know what he wants."

McNeilly moved
closer to calm her down but she backed away. “We don’t harm our own, Shannon.”

"But I’m
not one of you, don’t you understand?! I’m something else! He knows this and he
wants to use me and…”

“You’re wrong
about Vin…”

“You can't just
take me to him! You said you wouldn't hurt me!"

As the shuttle
eased into the ship, Shannon was a step away from going frantic. Zech was
finally able to step forward and touch her, using his shaman ability to calm
her. However, when he touched, he began to understand Dane’s fascination with
her. She’s Hodraida… and yet she’s not. There’s another presence inside her.
And the power… immense power, power she’s only beginning to use. What will Vin
do with her?

“You mean you don’t
know?” Shannon replied.

“What?”

“Vin hasn’t
told you what he’ll do to me, has he?”

“How did you…”

“I read your
thoughts when you touched my shoulder.”

“But… but
that’s impossible.”

Shannon shook
her head no as the shuttle suddenly stopped. The door gelled open as four
horadrim were standing outside, ensuring that Shannon would get to Vin Dane. It
didn’t take long before they reached a small empty chamber. The four escorts
filed off down the hall, leaving only Zech, Vin, and Shannon in the room, as
the door closed behind them. Dane looked ecstatic. “Ah, Shannon… I’ve heard so
much about you.”

She leaned back
against McNeilly. “Stay away from me.”

“You have
nothing…”

“Liar!” she
screamed as lightning burst from her outstretched hands. They hit Vin Dane like
a wave and slammed him against the wall. Zechariah unconsciously stepped away
from the girl, frightened by the terrible power that was bottled inside her.

Vin peeled
himself off the wall and smiled. “Use your tricks against me, will you?”
He outstretched his hands and fired the same bolts back at her. Shannon shot
her own back, the flickering plasma interlocking, fighting against each other
in the small enclosed space. They both started to glow as the fight
intensified. McNeilly finally gathered his wits and rushed Shannon. Knocking
her off her feet, the bolts broke off suddenly, and Dane stepped forward.
“Leave us.”

Zechariah was
confused. What is Vin doing? She’s one of us?! “What’s…”
“LEAVE US!” he shouted, filling McNeilly with a fear he had never
known. Scrambling to his feet, he opened the door, stepping out. When the fear
finally left him, several feet down the corridor, all he could her was
Shannon’s scream.

*****

The void was suddenly ripped apart by the orange
swirling fire of a jump point opening on the edge of the Wilke’s Star system.
It was an old-style hyperdrive, designed before the creation of jumpgates, and
phased out over the years due to the danger involved.

For Andrea Treschi, the trip was worth the risk.
The Christian Federation had gladly granted their Naval Chief of Chaplains one
of their old antiques; the frontier was full of them, since jumpgate technology
took a while to get to them. He wasted no time in making the jump from San
Angeles to Wilke’s Star, even though it was a dangerous three-day jump.
Everyone knew that the longer you stayed in hyperspace, the less likely you
were to reach your target. Short jumps were preferred thanks to the strange,
inaccurate distortion of the orange dimension.

The former smuggler wasn’t a pilot, but he was
a gambler. The odds looked good in his favor so he took the risk. Besides, he
knew, if I can get to General Fargus with the offer of a TI-CF alliance,
things will start looking up… in my favor. Treschi resented what he had had
to do in order to get back in the great game. Everything had finally
been set up at Avalon. His troops were in position, his allies were ready… then
the rebels decided to attack the capital system. That was rather
disappointing, but still feasible, if only Samuel Wall hadn’t…

Dad. Andrea corrected. All these years
living a lie… he never bothered to find me. Never lifted a finger; forced me to
learn it all for myself. Without connections or… hmph, maybe I’m more like him
than I thought.

The general’s eyes looked at the lidar screen. Something’s
wrong with that sensor, he thought, then checked the readings. Suddenly, he
snapped back in his chair at what he saw. Before him, he saw the entire K’Nes
fleet encircling the capital planet of the TI Rebels, massive debris cluttering
space all around.

Oh, shit… Treschi couldn’t believe that
the cats could have moved that quickly, but the readouts were correct. If the
newsvids could be believed, the Eastern Bloc had already occupied the western
systems, so the entire Rebel fleet had to have been wiped out. They had
nowhere else to go; they had to fight. With any luck, he hoped, they
took a good chunk of the cat fleet with them, but…

Andrea forced the thoughts out of his mind. There’s
no time for sentiment. If the plan fails, move on to the next one. Clarke…
Clarke’s holding all the cards now, and with the Rebels gone, once that
weretiger takes out the Resistance and the Fundies, his power in
human-controlled space will be absolute.

Or would it? Treschi patched up the star
charts and made a guess at the current boundaries. With any luck, the EB’s
have only reached Jennifer’s Star. If I can make Port Arthur, I can get there
before the colony surrenders. The Jackals have some connections out on the western
frontier. Maybe I can even get in touch with Wall’s old network, given enough
time…

The mage smiled to himself. Time? The war’s
almost over. Borders will stabilize soon and there will be opportunity
everywhere once the heat’s off. Time? I have all the time in the world.

Treschi programmed the hyperdrive for Port
Arthur and tried to consider the new possibilities rolling around in his head. Someone
will be have to be the connection between the new Fed and the Bloc. Wall… my
father was the link before. There’s no reason why I can take up the family
business. The hyperdrive console blinked out a warning as it finished its
calculations. Another three-day jump… risky. Andrea allowed himself a
smile. The game wouldn’t be worth playing without a little risk.

The craft shot out a package from the beaked
front. It exploded, opening up the portal into hyperspace, in brilliant orange
colors. Another second passed and the ship jumped away, passing beyond the
cares of this system, waiting for a new plan to unfold.

*****

Damien stepped out of the growth
tube, Dr. Shiro standing in front of him.

Error in records, Dr. Shiro is
dead.

"We must get off this planet
as soon as possible, they will find me now that they are looking for me."
Shiro was in a hurry, the mainframe running compression programs on it's many
contents and the doctor otherwise gathering many small tools into bags.
"Damien, please mix up as large as a high energy explosive as you can from
the supplies we have.

Previous order still in effect.
Intelligence requested for recording purposes.

Going onto full burn, he slammed
Shiro down onto the floor and restrained him. The doctor did several magical
attacks, the strange black armor on Damien noticeable quivering and absorbing
it each time.

"I require knowledge. You
will give it to me."

"Release me, Damien! I order
you!" The machine was unable to come up with a clear answer, the nature
of Shiro's old order to kill him invalidating future orders. Referring his
mind, the algorithm influenced the decision.

"Order invalid."
Accessing his files, the machine found a large section on interrogation and an
even larger medical section. "Beginning torture procedures."
Grabbing Shiro by the head, the mage was unable to fight against the machine's
hydraulics. Pulling a metal probe from a nearby table, the machine made it
descend slowly towards his pupil. "Are you Dr. Shiro?"

"Yes damn it!"

"Why are there two instances
of your biological processes being terminated yet you continue to
function?"

“Fuck you! You'll kill me after
this anyway, I wrote the fucking file on it."

Without pause, the machine slowly touched the
probe to the doctor's eye, the eye scratching itself in desperation before the
machine stuck the probe in so far that the muscle only twitched as the probe
passed through. As Damien pulled it out, the inner fluids of the eye drained,
his eye looking as a deflated balloon.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

"Please answer the
question."

"Fuck... fuck...."

Begin first aid to keep subject
alive during interrogation.

With that the machine got up,
grabbing a the first aid kit. Pulling out the hydrogen peroxide, the machine
doused the eye liberally and then stuck a cloth rag into the hole to slow the
bleeding.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

"Please answer the
question..."

Several hours later, the machine
looked back onto the slightly living body of Shiro. All his limbs lay more or
less next to him, very little left of them after the machine filleted off
slowly areas containing large nerve counts and then cut them off as they were
then useless. Many of the doctor’s organs had been reworked to recreate many
painful diseases. Unfortunately, the doctor. had not given much good information
and would soon die, limiting further interrogation.

The machine turned to the growth
tube, throwing Shiro into it with ease. Setting it to map the doctor's
cellular alignment with memories, it would be only a matter of time before
conversion programs could pull the information directly from the electronic
representation of his mind. Compressing a copy of the mainframe's contents
onto one of his chips, Richter studied the doctor's progress while his machine
side cleared Shiro's authority out of his control protocols.

The machine walked out of the slum
building, the doctor's office having been on top of a cheap apartment
building. The machine did not look back as the building combusted, the oxygen
burning incendiary device frying everyone inside, followed shortly thereafter
by a the top of the building exploding off from a secondary high energy charge.

Sensitive information and
equipment destroyed.

Analysis black armor from Shiro's
mind and files: Adaptation of early light Horadrim armor. Design pre-dates
human interaction with Horadrim species. Modified by Dr. Shiro to join to
organisms without soul webs. Armor acts on instinct at a decreased level of
effectiveness until soul web is gained. Can currently shield most magic, with
soul web provides complete immunity. Provides a 25% boost to defense against
most physical weapons, with no strength increases. Internal Security files on
adding soul webs to humans included. Soul web plans must be modified to be
used on any level of cyborg.

Damien tried to shift the armor
like any Horadrim could, but was unable. His mind finished with the
information which Shiro compiled, the machine in him continued to analyze it.

Dr. Shiro: Name given to 1 of 4
unauthorized clones. 3 clones confirmed dead, 1 living in unknown area. A
constant mental link was kept between all 4, a complication when the original
Dr. Shiro tried to multiply himself by use of a growth tube; mind sphere
refused to split. Status: 1 instance of Dr. Shiro presumed living, to be
considered an extreme threat. Action: If located, Dr. Shiro should be
eliminated.

Damien kept to the shadows, the
trenchcoat hiding the thick black armor that covered all but his face and hands.
It was a strange substance, he could seemingly reach through it to grab the
weapons that it enveloped and held.

The machine entered the Avalon's
main subway system, walking unopposed into the train. Its internal clock place
the time at around 2200 hours, a fair amount of people also getting onto the
train. It calmly watched as a street gang stood up, drew their weapons, and
began mugging the other unarmed people. Finally, one of them turned to him.

"Give me your money,
NOW!" The machine had not been impressed with their skills, they seemed
unable to concentrate on one target at a time and left unarmed targets living,
targets that may at some time become a threat. Carrying no money on it, the
machine recognized the usefulness that that many IDs and that much money could
provide it.

"Money, now!"

"Off'im, Jerry!" said one
of the other boy's gang members. The boy looked to his friend, and before he
could look back at the cyborg he felt the gun removed from his hand. His eyes
focused for only a split second before the slugthrower blew a hole between his
eyes. In a split second Damien shot the other members of the gang, their heads
flying back violently as the massive chunk of lead sprayed everything behind
them with deep red blood.

"Anyone who moves will be
killed." Richter finished addressing the passengers, then sat down and
rummaged through the wallets and purses.

As the train neared its stop for
the Von Einstein Shuttle Transfer Station, Damien pulled out a grenade he had
taken from Shiro's lab. Setting the fuse, the machine went invisible with it
as the train slowed to a halt. Only milliseconds before the military explosive
ignited, the machine threw itself through a window, the blast catching but not
injuring the cyborg. The invisible cyborg made his way out of the subway and
towards Von Einstein. Behind him, the fire blazed in the train, the burning
corpses bearing no witness to the events that had just conspired.

Outside the machine found the automated ticket
purchasing machine, scanning a stolen chit card and ID through the slots.
Jacking into a nearby wireless comlink, the machine hacked its way into the Von
Eisenstein computer network, breaking through the security clearance, and
connecting to the console. Instantly the machine received the information it
needed, allowing him to select a ticket to Minos. Walking into an alley, the
machine pulled out the Bowie knife, cutting at it's face. With only the
distance between his eyes now uniform with his past appearance the machine
walked confidently into the station. The nanotech stopped the bleeding
instantly, and got to work healing the scabs.

Cloaking again, the machine walked
into the building and around the detection devices. Finding the next shuttle
to the Ark, the machine boarded still invisible. When it landed, Damien had
plenty of time to plan his next move several hours later.

"Earth Fleet Command Center,
this is pilot John Redman of the commercial freighter Hachimoto.
Requesting clearance to Minos." the pilot and his copilot sat at the helm
of the huge commercial vessel, one of the first civilian craft to be equipped
with a grav drive, on the conditions that the loss of any federation fleet
could mean it's conversion into a heavy cruiser size weapons platform.

"Roger, Hachimoto,
access granted."

As they listened in their headphones to the messages
of the solar space traffic, they heard a strange muffled sound coming from the
cabin. They turned in time to see a Fleet marine fall dead in front of a
deeply scared man carrying a large vacuum sealed box.

"You are to proceed to
TI-controlled space."

The co-pilot spoke up.
"What? They'll blow us out of the sky!"

The machine shot him quickly, the
predictable burn of the plasma pistol not dirtying the controls. The machine
turned the gun quickly back to the pilot, and jacked himself into an interface
port. Although the ship was never meant to be controlled by a port designed
for the pilot's access to system internets, the networks were connected and the
machine was quickly learning to fly from the ship's autopilot and the actions
of the pilot.

"To Babylon." The pilot
did as ordered, turning the ship around. "Enter hyperspace."

“You think the autopilot
can handle this?” Ronsheimer laughed. “You’re asking me to detonate nuclear
bombs and skip out of blast range, Lieutenant! No, I’m staying at the helm. We
need a skilled pilot to pull this off. With any luck, I’ll meet you on the
other side of the minefield!”

“What?” Dade
asked in disbelief. “Damn it, Captain, don’t be an idiot! Get off that ship!”

His only answer
was the flash of the gunboat’s ion engine as it surged forward.

“Damn stupid
fool…” Dade cursed, guilt tugging at him over Ronsheimer’s inevitable fate.
“All right, team!” he yelled to his fighters, “We got one shot at this, make it
count… punch it!”

Dade was
slammed back in his seat as the Crusaders shot forward, pouring into the
minefield behind the jump gate at top speed, following in the gunboats’ wake.
He watched Jehovah’s Wrath duck into the range of the first mine’s
proximity trigger, dart away as the bright sphere of energy erupted, head
straight for the next mine…and then Dade was lost in blinding clouds of white
light, thrown by shockwaves, barely able to see the gunboat blazing a path
ahead of them.

He forced
himself to stay loose at the controls, guiding his fighter expertly between
nuclear blasts at top speed, not even looking at his controls, one with the
machine, flying at the speed of thought. Ahead of him the gunboat ducked away
from an explosion… and another… then suddenly Ronsheimer was too slow, his ship
caught in the blast and crushed like an eggshell as it vaporized. Instantly
another gunboat zoomed in to take its place, speeding ahead to trigger the
mines. Dade flew stubbornly after it, riding turbulent shockwaves around
lethal nuclear blasts. Suddenly the explosions stopped, and the lingering
white glow faded into a field of stars.

Dade gasped in
relief as the fighters and gunboats burst out of the minefield unscathed. For
a moment he was still. Then he let out a triumphant cry, thrilled at having
survived.

Even a million
kilometers away, Richard York, Lieutenant of the Faithful, could see the bright
flashes ripple out to the edge of the minefield from his position on the bridge
of the Sacre Coeur, the patrol frigate serving as the flagship for the
Righteous Navy’s tiny Centauri Fleet.

“Well, you
didn’t really expect them to surrender after only losing one ship, did
you, sir?” The gray-haired black woman said simply, nodding and smiling
mysteriously.

“Of course
not,” York conceded. “Better take out a second. York to Centauri Fleet,” he
said opening a channel, “all ships, fire torpedo salvo! Target the Assault
Ship in the minefield, fire when ready.”

“Lieutenant!”
his sensor deacon cried out, “The enemy’s fighters and missile boats are
moving out of the minefield!”

“How many?”
York asked sternly, his face darkening.

“Uh…
thirty-five fighters, eight missile boats!”

“Rosemary,” he
said pensively, “I think we may have a problem… remind me again, what was my
backup plan for a fighter breakout?”

Rosemary
pretended to search through files on her datapad, trying to think up a tactical
response to the fighters while their torpedoes sped down on the helpless Fleet
vessels.

Wild cheering
erupted on the bridge of the Schaumburg as the crew watched the fighter
squadrons break out of the minefield on the main view screen. It was the first
thing that had gone right in this totally screwed up battle, and a
lifeline of hope had suddenly appeared for the trapped ships. O’Reilly watched
the fighters regroup silently, fuming. I don’t know if I shouldcongratulate
or strangle whoever pulled off that off…They should’ve at least told
me what they were planning! Yeah, the fighters are free now, great, but they
were the other ships’ only real defense against-

“I…don’t think
so, sir,” his tactical officer replied nervously. “The cannons are in fixed
mounts -- we’d have to reposition the ship for each shot… I don’t think we have
that much time.”

“Situation’s
the same for the plasma howitzers, O’Reilly,” General Horton radioed in.
“They’re capital weapons. They’re not designed for point defense.”

“Damn!” he
cursed. “Gene! You found the clear frequency for our guided missiles yet?”

“Um, well, no
sir -- but I’m trying, really!” Lt. Higgins pleaded.

“Just keep
working at it. Everyone’s counting on you -- don’t let us down. Okay, team,
this is what we’re gonna do,” O’Reilly said, stalling, staring at the tactical
map on his cyber-optic display. Think, THINK!! “Get the ships turned
around! Concentrate plasma and particle cannons on the mines around the escape
tunnel the fighters blew open! If we get it wide enough for our ships to get
out, we might have a chance!”

The ships of
Task Force David spun around on maneuvering thrusters an opened fire. The Schaumburg’s
particle cannons swept across the field leaving a line of nuclear blasts in
their wake, while the heavy cruisers Samson and Goliath poured
balls of super-heated plasma into the field, detonating mines. O’Reilly
watched his optical display tensely as the mines slowly blinked off the map
while enemy torpedoes closed in. It was obvious they wouldn’t clear the field
in time.

“Redirect all
defensive fire from particle and plasma phalanx to the minefield!” O’Reilly
ordered, speeding up the process. “Gene, you getting anywhere with that
missile frequency?!”

“Excuse me?
They’re targeting my ship?” The captain of the assault ship asked
dubiously. “Oh no. We can’t have that, can we? No, not at all,” she said
briskly. Suddenly the Galilee fired its ion drive and pushed up next
the Schaumburg, charging weapons.

“Captain
Zivanit, what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” O’Reilly yelled
furiously. Why can’t these people just follow fucking orders?! Or at least
tell me what they’re doing?!

“Opening the
door, dear.” she replied cheerfully as the Galilee suddenly fired its
mass drivers. Hundred-ton spheres sped down the tunnel, detonating a dozen
mines and soaking the blasts before finally disintegrating. The Galilee
fired again, and again, clearing a path to freedom.

Brilliant,
O’Reilly thought, watching the path melt before them on his tactical display, but
will it be enough? Xinjao breathlessly watched the torpedoes closing in on
them, waiting as long as he could before he finally gave the order.

“Not enough for
the cruisers.” Xinjao argued, “but the two smaller ships can get out! The
torpedoes are targeting the Galilee, anyway -- if we move it out, it
might draw off some of the fire. Now do it! That’s an order!!” There
was a slight delay as the two captains hesitated before abandoning the rest of
the task force, but then the assault ship and the destroyer turned and
carefully maneuvered down the mine-free corridor to the safety of empty space.

“So what are we
going up against here, Jestine?” Dade asked as his swarm of fighters and
gunboats bore down on the nearest Righteous Navy target.

“It’s a decoy!”
Dade alerted the others scornfully. “Approach carefully, but don’t break off!”
he directed as they closed in on the enemy squad. “Engage the enemy and take
‘em down!”

The horde of
Fleet fighters swept down upon the tiny squadron. The enemy fighters fought
frantically, dodging missiles and laser beams as the executed desperate
maneuvers to get the better of their opponents, but they were simply
overwhelmed. The unarmored war freighter never stood a chance, destroyed
before it could kick off even a single torpedo from the box launchers bolted to
its hull.

“Well, that was
good for some exercise.” Dade jeered, blowing the unarmed decoy drone into
atoms just for kicks. “Okay, Jestine, what else do the Bible-thumpers have
hiding out there?”

“Five squadrons
surrounding the minefield,” his wing mate answered, “about ten hundred thousand
klicks apart -- pretty spread out. We got two squads heading for us on
opposite vectors, the rest are all heading for the planet - probably to
regroup.”

“A war
freighter, two fighters, and a capital ship guarding them - cruisers,
destroyers -“

“And I’ll bet
ya dimes to dollars those capital ships are decoys, too!” Dade swore. “All
right, team, break into five squadrons, seven fighters each, choose an enemy
squadron and take ‘em out! Take a gunboat with you, we’ll need the ship-killer
torpedoes. If you see any big, scary escorts, just ignore them -- they’re
probably drones. And remember, if you let these guys hurt you… when we
outnumber and outgun them… well, then you’re just goddamn pathetic, and you can
buy my beer! Okay, move it out!” The Fleet fighters paused briefly,
maneuvering into formation, then shot toward their enemies like sharks in a
swimming pool.

“Okay, boys, we
won’t have enough time to clear a path though the mines for our cruisers before
the torpedoes hit.” O’Reilly broadcast to the remaining ships stuck in the
minefield as enemy missiles streaked in mercilessly on them, “so redirect
phalanx fire to your defense grids and brace for impact!” He cut the channel.
“Higgins, you found that damn missile frequency yet?”

“Well, uh, no,
but…”

“But what?”

“Well, uh,
remember that guy who, y’know, told us to surrender and stuff? Well, we could,
uh, try using his communication frequency for our missiles… it obviously wasn’t
jammed…”

O’Reilly
smacked himself in the forehead. Of course! Why didn’t I catch that?
“Damn it, Gene, why didn’t you say so earlier?!”

“Who cares?”
O’Reilly asked, transmitting the frequency to his ships. “It’s the best shot
we’ve got!” A minute later, the three cruisers unleashed a massive barrage of
missiles and fusion shells at the incoming torpedoes. Each crewmen held their
breath in anticipation, watching the defensive fire race toward the missiles
that threatened them… staying on target… and when they finally connected,
shooting down the enemy torpedoes, the wild roar of relieved, ecstatic cheering
was deafening.

Dade rolled out
of the way as the Righteous Navy’s pathetic freighter converted into a
makeshift missile boat burst into a sphere of white energy behind him. “Well,
so much for that squadron!” Dade said triumphantly. “Anyone take any
damage?”

“Yup,” she
answered, “all but delta squadron - they were heading after an enemy squadron
guarded by a decoy imitating a frigate!” she laughed. “Can you believe
that?”

“These guys are
idiots!” Dade jeered. “Why would they bother making a drone
imitate a frigate… unless… oh, shit!” Dade exclaimed in sudden
realization. “Delta squadron! Sound off!” Only silence greeted him at the
other end of the com link. “Damn it!” he swore, opening a channel to all
fighters. “All squadrons! We’ve got a real capital ship out here - a
Nike-class escort frigate! Everyone converge on delta squadron’s last know
position - and we’re gonna need some gun boats to take this thing down, too!”
The four aces sped off the help their comrades, praying it wasn’t too late.

Dade could tell
instantly that the pilot at the helm of the enemy frigate was good.
More fleet fighters were joining the battle every minute, but they still didn’t
have the number to overwhelm the enemy’s defenses. Moving fast in an erratic
evasive pattern, small enough to be extremely agile, the frigate dodged the
fighter’s missiles and soaked up their weak laser blasts, all the while
breaking up fighter formations with fusion cannon shells and striking down
fighters like flies with powerful lasers. What few missiles the Fleet fighters
could get through to the Frigate were shot down by its defense grid. Dade knew
the battle was going badly and victory would be costly, if there was to be
victory at all…

“God damn it,
get your asses over here!” he yelled at the fighter pilots over the com link.
“We need backup!”

“We’re the last
squadron, Dade!” someone shot back, “There is no backup!”

“Yes there is.”
an older woman’s voice came over the com link. “This is Captain Keren Zivanit
of the Galilee,” she said. “We and the Disraeli broke out of the
minefield. Pull your fighters back to help with our point defense.” she
ordered firmly. “If you can get us with fifteen hundred kilometers of that
frigate, it’s ours.”

The two Israeli
ships, aided in their defense by the fighters, advanced fearlessly on the tiny
frigate. The destroyer, the Disraeli, lay down suppressing fire while
the assault ship swung out and around the frigate, trying to cut it off in a
pincer movement. Within minutes, the Israeli fleet had their enemy’s flagship
on the run, slowly advancing on it. As they drew with close range, the twin
prongs of the Galilee’s transit beacon shimmered briefly and a distorted
ripple flew out and struck the frigate.

Lieutenant York
was thrown off his feet by a blast of wind as a thunderclap of displaced air
filled the bridge. “Don’t move!” a harsh voice cried. “Put your hands in the
air or we fire!” York turned around to see two platoons of short, stocky
Israeli Marines standing on his bridge, clad in combat fatigues and
high-density plastic armor… and pointing plasma rifles at them.

Slowly…
reluctantly, York raised his hands and hissed out the order for his crew to stand
down.

O’Reilly closed
his mental link to the Schaumburg’s computer and pulled the cord out of
his brain. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag to calm his frazzled
nerves. He had almost died. He had almost led hundreds of people to their
death. And he had failed to save them. Only by the quick thinking of several
of his crew - Lieutenant Dade, Captain Zivanit, General Horton - had they
narrowly escaped death. Vorheis is going to love this, he
thought dismally, probably give me another damn medal.

“All right,
Schuyler,” he said finally, dreading the answer. “How many did we lose?”

“Thirty-eight
fighters, half our gunboats, and the Samarian,” General Horton answered
pain and anger in his voice.

“And what did
the enemy have?” Xinjoa asked darkly.

“A frigate, six
war freighters, and a squadron of fighters.”

O’Reilly didn’t
want to ask the next question, but he had to. “Casualties?”

O’Reilly squeezed
his eyes shut and buried his face in his artificial hand. Waves of guilt and
self-loathing swept over him. What the hell was I thinking? he
wondered. I should never have led us into battle. I’m not a warrior… I’m
an engineer.

*****

Lieutenant John Walters made his
way slowly down the corridor. He still could not get over how white his arms
were. Re-grown skin always looks like that John, it will tan… eventually.
As he approached the briefing room the butterflies returned to his stomach. What
do they have in store for us? I had hoped to get a couple more weeks to think
before getting back to the unit, but the order was very explicit that I be
here.

Walters reached the door to the
briefing room, paused momentarily then walked in.

“Ahhh, Lieutenant Walters… good to
see your back with us,” stated General Irene Weirimu. “Now that the Lieutenant
is here we can get started. You men may wonder why I have called you here
today. As you all know we took heavy losses during the defense of Avalon, especially
amongst our scout officers. That final order to make contact with the rebel
troops, coupled with that orbital bombardment, resulted in almost total
decimation of the scout cadre. You gentlemen are all that is left.”

John took the opportunity to gaze
around the room. Damn, so many missing faces.

“Unfortunately,” the general
droned, ”war does not allow us any time to step back and take a breath so we
must move forward at the pace it applies. We have been given a golden
opportunity. While I cannot brief you on it at this time, it will involve a
heavy effort from the scouting elements. In order to complete this assignment,
we must bring our battalions back up to full strength, we will take the first
step towards that goal today. Lieutenants Abrams, Stuart, and Walters please
step forward.” The three men glanced at each other with inquisitive looks
then moved to the front of the room.

“In recognition of your service as
platoon commanders during the defense of Avalon, it is my pleasure to present
the three of you with the rank of captain,” stated General Weirimu. She pinned
the new insignia on each man in turn and then stepped back allowing the rest of
the room to applaud.

Abrams turned to Walters and said,
“I would feel a lot better about this promotion if we weren’t the only three
platoon lieutenants to survive…”

“No kidding, Abe,” replied Stuart,
“who are they going to put in our shoes? Losses amongst the non-coms where just
as high.”

Walters who had been concentrating
on the general turned towards the two of them and declared, “I think we are
about to find out.” He motioned to Weirimu who had moved back towards the
podium.

“Gentlemen, with those pleasantries
complete lets get back to business,” declared Weirimu. “Due to the heavy
losses sustained on Avalon we have been forced to consolidate men from other,
even more heavily devastated, units into our own. Men from both the 23-7 and
the 36-4 Infantry Divisions will be filling out our ranks as those units have
been placed on the inactive rolls. If you will turn your attention to the
board behind me you will see how the new command structure will work.”

“Ma’am,” came a voice from the
back, “our division seems to made up completely of scouting elements. Can that
be right?”

“Yes, you are correct… in fact,
what you are about to hear cannot leave this room. This division is going to
go in advance of a full invasion force. We will be operating completely on our
own for at least two weeks in a hostile environment. Our insertion will not
allow for heavy support units, and because of that I requested, and was
granted, a group of people who are acquainted with just such a mission. My aid
will now be passing unit rosters to each of you. You will notice there is an
assembly zone notated on the first line of the document. That is where your
men are now gathered waiting on you. The particulars of the meeting will be
revealed to you on board your transports. We leave in twelve hours. I suggest
you take care of any last minute details now.”

The room erupted as each man tried
to voice his concerns, questions, or outrage to the general. Walters noticed
almost none of it. Twelve hours? I haven’t even been out of the hospital
that long and now we are going back in. Captain, Jesus, now I have even more men
to kill off. Will this never end? Where the hell are we going? How can I ask
men, who do not even know me, to follow me to a location I do not even know
myself…

His mind full of unanswerable
questions, Walters hurried from the room and headed back towards the barracks.
As he entered the barracks he noticed Sergeant Links waiting outside Walters’
quarters.

“How can I help you, sergeant?”

“Sir, we got us a hell of a mess.”
replied Links.

“You’re telling me about it, they
just dropped a bomb on us over at that briefing.”

“Looks like you had more than a
bomb dropped on you there… captain. I guess congratulations are in order.”
stated Links as he noticed the insignia on Walters’ uniform.

“Hell, sarge, they gave these to
everyone who lived… I bet you would have some, if it wasn’t a well known fact
that you would jack-slap anyone who tried to promote you past… well, where you
are now.”

A smirk appearing on his face the
older man stated, “A man outta to know his limits, and the way I figgir it,
I’ve reached mine.”

“Lets get back to the problem you
wanted to tell me about… no, let me guess, we have replacements?”

“Yessir, you can say that again.
We got us troopers from just about every damn recon unit in this here army.
Only four of them have served together before and they is a bunch of damn
injuns!” replied Links not even attempting to hide his disdain. “Hell, most of
‘em are fresh outta basic. The few vets we do have look like they were in
worse shit that we were, sir.”

“What about the Injuns, you said
they had served together before? I assume that means they have seen some
combat,” replied John. “Tell me about them.”

“I tell ya sir, they are some odd
ducks. Three of them are covered head to toe in animal tattoos and jewelry.
The fourth one, a Lieutenant Stormcloud, seems a bit aloof for my tastes, a
real proud one that. As for their service records, personnel gives that to
the battalion commander. Which, judging from the new shinies on your
shoulders, is you.”

“Hah,” came the semi-startled
reply, “I guess you’re right. Well, let me get my gear and lets get on over to
the men.”

­­­­­­­­­­­­ “I tell you sure as shootin we had
those Dead Boys right were we wanted them. The LT had us runnin all over
creation driving those rebs nuts. Just about the time they would think they
had us we would slip free and hit them in the ass. I tell ya that LY is
sumtin!” the disembodied voice of Corporal Lear floated out into the corridor.

Captain Walters started to turn
into the doorway but Sgt. Links stopped him. “Let’s listen to this, sir, might
be fun.”

“You had them right were you wanted
them, huh? Then why the hell do you need us to fill in your ranks,” another
voice responded.

“Well you see, the LT figured out
that the commander of the DB’s was havin’ himself a command problem. So he
came up with this plan for us to take advantage of it. We got us some mind
mage types from command…”

“You didn’t have any mind mages in
your outfit?” another voice interrupted.

“Hell, why would we need them, way
I figure it, they is just bigger head for someone like me to blow off!”
Laughter at this response brought smiles to the two “spies” in the corridor.
“Like Lear is somtin else, captain, ain’t he?” whispered Links.

As the laughter subsided Lear
launched back into his story. “Anyway, the LT has the mages make it look like
there is a lot more of us than there really is. We came charging out of the
woods and shit-fire if the strangest thing didn’t happen. The DB’s started
killing each other. Seems the LT guessed their command problem bang on! Well
anyways, after the fight we get this order to try and make contact with the
enemy in order to git them to quit fight’in. So the LT crawls up the hill the
DB’s are occu-pi-an and makes contact with their colonel.”

“He did it? Why didn’t he just
order one of you to do it?” came another voice.

“Well, the LT is a good joe, he
aint gonna make any one of us do sumtin he aint willing to do to himself.”

“How did it end out, did he fuck up
and the Dead Boys kick your ass?” Stated a mocking voice from the back of the
room.

“No this is when it gets fucked
up. Seems some Fleet puke decided we were more dangerous to them than the
enemy and the bastards shelled us from space. Hell only Sarge, the LT, and me
survived, and the LT just got out of the hospital today.” stated Lear, anger
obvious in his voice.

With that announcement, the room
broke into bedlam as other men began to describe how their units had also been
decimated. Walters sensing that any cohesion in the room was rapidly slipping
away chose to make his entrance. Links felt the captain begin to move, then
stepped forward into the doorway, shouting. “TEN-SHUN!”

A silence broke across the room as
Walters entered behind the Sergeant. “At ease, men… I would like to take the
time to introduce myself but we don’t have the time. Sergeant, could you
please begin placing the men into there squads. Corporal Lear, Lieutenants
Stormcloud, Munson, and Suhs please follow me into the ready room. That is
all.” With that Walters turned and moved towards the ready room that was on
the far side of the assembly area. Lear, with a confused look on his face,
beat the captain into the room.

“What gives LT… holy smack… I mean,
captain,” beamed the corporal.

“Well, corporal, I guess we are
both sporting new ranks. Besides, they need to see you down at the armory,
something about a new toy they are issuing snipers before this next mission.
Something they do not want everyone to know about.”

“Well I’ll be, a new toy you
say….mmm what could that be. With your permission, sir, I will go check that
out!”

“I doubt I could stop you if I
wanted to, git outta here.”

Lear turned and half ran out of the
room almost knocking over Lieutenant Munson in his haste to exit.

“Ahhh, gentlemen, nice to meet
you.” Walters said as he closed the door behind them. “I do wish we had more
time to get to know one another, but it seems we will be shipping out in lets
see…” Walters glanced at his watch and stated, “about 9 hours.”

Munson and Suhs’ faces showed
perceptible shock as their minds registered what the Captain had just said.
Stormcloud looked completely unfazed and was the first too speak.

“Captain, if you do not mind me
asking, was is it that we are going?”

“To be honest, they haven’t told
me. I assume we will be briefed once we are under way. As for now I would
like to get to know each one of you. I have your service records, but that
only tells me what the army thinks of you. Please, starting with Munson, tell
me what you believe you can bring to our team.”

Lt. Munson began to speak and the
four men began.

*****

Erich Von Shrakenberg surveyed the chaos that
just minutes before had been his fleet. "All right… pick up any
survivors,” although I doubt there are any, he knew, “and move the fleet
into defensive formation. Get every ship we have ready… we're going to need
them."

He looked at the damage display at his console,
and it depressed him. His flagship was crippled. "Inform Admiral Adams
that I am transferring my flag to the Temujin. The Zeus is too
badly damaged to serve as flagship for this battle. Launch all fighters, and
take up a defensive position, guarding the Temujin. We can't afford to
lose our only surviving Gravitic Ram, we still have over six hours of
bombardment to complete." With that, he swept off the bridge, heading to
the undamaged starboard landing bay.

Once ensconced on the Flag Bridge of the EFS
Temujin, Erich asked for a report. The lieutenant who had been tasked with
preparing for his arrival stepped forward with a datapad in his hand.
"Sir, the Resistance fleet has been boosting at a constant four gees ever
since they broke Mars Orbit. They didn't make turnover at the halfway point,
so they're not going for a low-speed intercept. They can make a low-level
cee-fractional strike in approximately twenty minutes, with a passing velocity
of around fifteen PSL."

Erich digested this information. "They
will only be able to launch about three salvoes of torpedoes before they flash
past us, plus maybe two shots per mount from beam weapons, and it will take
them several hours to turn back around for another pass. We should be able to
weather that bombardment without too much trouble." Despite losing four
ships, his other vessels were essentially undamaged, and he still had most of
his fighters. Erich was confident that he could survive the coming battle with
minimum losses.

Erich's expression went from relief to a puzzled
frown. "At that range?" Firing from so far away, the torpedoes
would have burned out their engines by the time they reached the fleet, and
thus would be on purely ballistic trajectories, easy pickings for the fleet's
point defenses and fighters, despite their high velocity.

"Sir, enemy torpedoes are not accelerating,
just coasting." the sensor officer continued. "Now also picking up
fusion cannon shells."

"What are they doing," Erich asked
aloud. "Get me a secure link to Coppinger back on the Zeus."
The resistance commander's face appeared on the viewscreen, seated in the
brig. "Admiral Coppinger, I expected more from your subordinates.
They're firing from well beyond effective range. Any thoughts on why they are
not up to your level of expertise?"

Coppinger laughed. "You have no idea how
much they hate the Federation, Admiral. You cannot subjugate a free man, you
can only kill him."

"What the devil are you talking
about," Erich asked.

"They know they can't beat you in a fair
fight," Coppinger explained. "But you can't maneuver much, trapped
in the moon's shadow like this. If you try to dodge, you'll move out from
behind the moon, and the battlestations will cut you to ribbons."

"But your ships are light on torpedo
tubes," Erich protested. "Our point defense can easily handle such
small salvoes."

"You aren’t going to be facing a couple
dozen torpedoes," Coppinger stated gravely. "I have never been more
proud of my comrades than at this moment. I look forward to congratulating
them in the afterlife."

"Start making sense!"

"I have nothing more to say on this
matter." Coppinger shot back. "If you will excuse me, I'd like to
say my final prayers. If you're a religious man, I'd suggest you start as
well." He nodded to his guard to cut the signal, and silently bowed over
the console, his hands clasped together beneath his chin. The image blinked
off the viewscreen, replaced by a projection of the sensor trace of the
incoming ships, now dotted with the icons of dozens of projectiles.

Erich stared at the approaching flotilla for a
moment, then understanding dawned on his face. "Mein Gott…activate
gravitic shields! Move the unshielded ships into the shadows of the grav
shields! Now!"

"Admiral!" The sensor officer shouted
out a warning, as nearly every single Resistance ship suddenly exploded.
Bright points of light stabbed out on the display, as over a dozen ships
self-destructed at once.

"What the hell are they doing," asked
Johanna Ingolfsson in a shocked voice. "They killed themselves!"

"They killed themselves to get at us,"
Erich explained in a small voice. "Those ships are now nothing but
fragments, but every single piece of wreckage still has the momentum of the
ship's last velocity. Those fragments are now bearing down directly at us, at
almost fifteen percent of the speed of light." As comprehension slowly
dawned on Johanna's shocked face, Erich continued in an almost admiring tone.
"Instead of a handful of lance torpedoes and fusion cannon shells per
ship, we're now facing a couple million fragments, each moving at 45,000
kilometers per second. A grain of salt at that speed will go through the hull
of a starship like a white-hot knife through a piece of paper."

"Oh my god," Johanna breathed.

"Exactly," Erich confirmed.
"And, like Coppinger said, we can't even dodge out of the way. The shadow
of the moon no longer is our shield, it's trapped us here, like in the muzzle
of a shotgun. And all we can do is stand here and take it."

"Can't we do ANYTHING?"

"Perhaps," Erich answered.
"Weapons officer, order all ships to fire fusion cannons and lance
torpedoes at maximum rate of fire. Build a wall of shells in front of us like
a breakwater. Time the explosions to coincide with your best guess as to the
arrival of the wave front of debris. If we're lucky, we can knock aside enough
of the fragments to let a few ships survive." As he looked around at the
shocked faces of his crew, he went on. "Don't worry, people. This ship
has a gravitic shield. Our shield will absorb the smaller debris, and our
chemlasers and particle phalanxes should be able to handle the few larger
fragments."

Erich turned back to watch the cloud of death on
the viewscreen. They'd commit suicide just to get to me. They'll all die
rather than surrender. He snorted. They're even more fanatical than I
am. And that scares me…

The wave front of streaking debris washed over
Erich's task force like a tsunami. The pitiful bursts of exploding fusion
shells poked brief holes in the cloud, but the roiling mass of scrap metal
quickly closed again around the gaps. The weakened grav shield of the EFS Zeus
failed under the strain of absorbing over a thousand impacts, and the mighty
star control ship was shredded like a paper target struck by a point-blank
blast of buckshot. The battlecruisers Tannenberg and Brittany,
sheltering behind the larger ship, quickly followed, torn to shreds by the
onslaught of kinetic projectiles. The grav shields of the dreadnoughts Draco
and Theseus sparked like lightning as hundreds of fragments flashed
brilliantly into plasma upon hitting the walls of concentrated gravitic
energy. The light cruiser Coventry was too close to one of the lance
torpedoes that snuck through the point-defense fire, and was blown in half.
Even in such close confines, however, the individual ships were still hundreds
of kilometers apart, and the vast majority of the fragments spun harmlessly
past, hurtling through the void, on their way out of the solar system forever.

The three Resistance ships with gravity drives
followed closely behind the storm of fragments. As they flashed past Erich's
reduced fleet, they deactivated their shields to unmask their weapons mounts.
Grav lasers and more torpedoes flashed out at the huddled Federation ships.
The Draco and Theseus dropped their shields in response, and
fired back at the rapidly moving targets. A grav laser tore through the
destroyer Ataturk, vaporizing the small ship. The destroyer Cavite
met a similar fate from a fusion cannon shell.

The lost Federation ships did not die alone,
however. A grav laser from the Theseus nicked the battlecruiser Valley
Forge, and the damaged ship was almost immediately struck by a torpedo from
the Botha, blowing off the after third of the hull. Two chemlaser shots
from the Draco tore into the Berkshire, gutting the Resistance
ship like a fish. The largest Resistance ship, the Racinante III, was
turned into an expanding ball of plasma by a torpedo hit from the Drake,
but not before one of its chemlasers raked along the flank of the Draco,
carving a trench over a hundred meters long in the hull and opening dozens of
compartments to space.

Following the three Resistance capital ships was
a swarm of fighters. They charged in on suicide runs, since they did not have
the fuel to kill their forward momentum and reach any friendly base. The
Federation fighters that had survived the debris storm dashed out to meet them,
and dozens of craft on both sides died in spectacular collisions. Hundreds
more Resistance fighters were killed by railgun and missile fire from the Fed
fighters, or from the point defense mounts on Erich's surviving warships.
Several got through the defenses, however, and rammed into the cruiser Drake
and the destroyer Rabaul, destroying both ships. Others futilely smashed
into the grav shield still up and protecting the Temujin.

When the last Resistance fighter flashed by,
never to be seen again, Task Force Foliage Gear was a shambles. The fleet of
sixteen ships was reduced to three Dreadnoughts and a single Mandela-class
destroyer with empty torpedo tubes. Less than a hundred Federation fighters
survived to defend the ships, and half of them had taken damage from
microscopic fragments of debris or nearby fusion blasts. Less than five
hundred crewmembers had escaped the destroyed ships in survival pods. In all,
over thirty thousand Federation spacers were dead, and a comparable number of
Resistance personnel.

Von Shrakenberg surveyed the damage from the
flag bridge of the Temujin, his right hand shaking slightly. "Mein
Gott…I've lost my fleet…"

Johanna put a placating hand on his arm.
"You did what you came to do. The Resistance fleet is destroyed."

"I lost my fleet," Erich repeated.
"I failed."

Johanna took her hand of his arm and stepped
away. Erich stared at the viewscreen for a full minute, then turned to the
weapons officer. "Lieutennant Valentine, resume the bombardment of
Luna," he ordered in a near whisper. He turned and faced his cousin.
"Captain Ingolfsson, please see to the recovery of all survivors. I will
be in my ready room." With that, he turned around and stumbled off the
bridge.

The bombardment was complete. A tunnel two
hundred kilometers wide was bored through to the core of Earth's moon. Dust
choked the cavernous mouth of the crater, temporarily suspended in the thin
wisp of nitrogen that passed for an atmosphere on the nearly airless
satellite. Erich Von Shrakenberg returned to the bridge, more composed than
before, but still somewhat shell-shocked. "Hail the Resistance leadership,"
he ordered curtly. "Inform them that this is their last chance to
surrender."

The communcations officer worked her panel. She
looked up at the Admiral and shook her head. "No response, sir."

"I was afraid of that," Erich replied
in a resigned tone. He turned to face Johanna. "I had hoped that they
would see reason. I never intended to actually go through with this, figured
that such a spectacular threat would be enough to scare them into
surrendering. But now I have no choice."

"We should use the Draco,"
Johanna offered. "It’s slightly damaged, but the gravity drive is still
operational at 90% of capacity." There was no ore freighter inbound, that
had been a ruse. The idea was that the Resistance might waste ships trying to
intercept a non-existent freighter instead of attacking the fleet en masse.
Now, it was just one more part of the plan that hadn't worked.

"All right," Erich said calmly.
"Send shuttles over to take off the crew, and program the autopilot. Move
us out beyond the hyper limit." The remaining Federation ships were in a
low enough orbit around the moon that even its small mass was enough to prevent
jumping to hyperspace. If they headed out in normal space from the moon for
the long run-up of accelleration to impact velocity, then they would enter the
torpedo envelope from the Earth battlestations.

"Shouldn't we go to Mars first?"
Johanna asked. "The battlestations there may be reduced, but we will
still need every ship when we face them." Neither Phobos nor Deimos were
large enough to hide their ships behind, so they would have to defeat the
orbital defenses before they could attack Mars.

"We can't face them as it is." Erich
stated flatly. "Our only hope at this point is to prove to them how
serious we are, perhaps then they will finally see the light." He turned
to walk off the bridge, and Johanna followed him.

"Or we could go home and come back with
more ships," Johanna offered. "Just a couple more should be enough,
and they should have more ships out of the repair yards by now. It's not like
they can fill in that hole we shot in the moon anytime soon."

"No, something like this only works due to
shock value," Erich retorted. "We can't give them time to evacuate
any more people." He paused for a second. "Mein Gott, how'd I ever
get so callous? They are people, human beings, members of our own
species down there." He looked Johanna in the eyes, his own eyes almost
pleading. "They are Federation citizens, even if they don't want that
honor. How did we come to this? Where did we go wrong?"

"We have our orders." Johanna reminded
him.

"Yes, we do," Erich answered with a
sigh. He continued down the corridor, with a more purposeful stride. "We
have our orders." Johanna watched him go, then turned back to the flag
bridge.

Erich took the turbolift to the Temujin's
small docking bay. We have our orders, and orders always come with a price.

The surviving ships of the task force jumped
back into normal space almost a hundred million kilometers from Earth. The
last crewmen were taken off the Draco, and the other three ships moved
to cover its automated death dive down towards the moon. Johanna Ingolfsson
looked around the flag bridge of the Temujin. "Where's the
admiral? I'd think he'd want to be here for this, even as distasteful as it
is."

A quick search of the ship revealed that Erich
Von Shrakenberg was not on board. Nor was he on the other two ships of the
fleet. A search of computer records revealed that he had boarded one of the
shuttles heading to the Draco to ferry off its crewmembers, and a
panicked Johanna hailed the doomed ship.

Erich's face appeared on the viewscreen.
"Don’t try to stop me, Johanna," he immediately barked. "I lost
my fleet, I failed in my mission."

"Don't do this, Erich!" she
practically screamed at the viewer. "I can't allow you to do this!"

"I lost my fleet," he reminded her.
"A lot of good men died today. A lot more are about to die. A price must
be paid… I must pay that price." As Johanna stared open-mounted at the
screen, Erich continued. "I know what I'm doing," he stated,
"and you can't stop me." With that, he cut the connection. The
tactical display that replaced his image on the viewscreen showed the Draco
beginning its acceleration towards the moon.

Johanna stared at the screen, a single tear
slowly moving down her right cheek. She turned to the communications officer.
"Order the other ships to escort him in.” The officer just stared at her
confused. “At least… at least we can make sure he reaches his
destination."

The EFS Draco dove down towards the moon.
Particle phalanxes stabbed out at the lance torpedoes launched around the moon
by the desperate battlestations around Earth, yet still the ship plunged
onward. The lone surviving destroyer was destroyed by a torpedo that leaked
through the defenses, but still the Draco plunged onward. Erich Von
Shrakenberg sat on the bridge, with the main viewer set to show the feed from a
camera mounted in the bow. The image of the moon, blueshifted slightly by the
speed of his approach, filled the screen, with a small readout at the bottom of
the screen giving a countdown to impact.

The readout slowly ticked away the last seconds
of Erich's life. Thirty seconds. Twenty. The readout seemed to slow down as
it ticked inexorably down. Eighteen. Seventeen. Erich held his breath.
Sixteen. Fifteen. Erich slowly turned around and saw he was alone on the
bridge… and the moon was getting closer.

Thirteen. Twelve. “A price must be paid…”

Nine. Eight. “…I must pay that price.”

Five. Four. Three.

In those final moments, the admiral smiled. As
he was born, so would he die… on Earth.